Chapter 3: The Gaping Protocol
The screen flickered, then split into four glaring quadrants, each a window into a different depravity. In the top left, a sissy was folded over a couch, her face contorted as two thick, black cocks vied for her asshole, stretching it obscenely wide. Top right showed a close-up of a gaping, spasming hole being spread by tattooed black fingers. "Watch," Dominique's voice sliced through the cacophony of moans and slaps. "See how they arch? How they present their hungry holes for MORE BBC?" Your own vibrating dildo was already slick and pressed against your throbbing entrance as you watched the bottom left video: a line of men, each waiting a turn at a sobbing, kneeling sissy. "Pose one, Bambi. On your knees, chest to the mattress, ass in the air—show me that empty, begging slit." You obeyed, shoving the buzzing toy deep with a cry as the bottom right quadrant flashed a rapid montage: BBC after BBC, each thicker, darker, longer. "Deeper," Dominique commanded, and you fucked yourself harder, matching the relentless rhythm of the four videos until your world dissolved into a chorus of grunts, the smell of sweat and silicone, and the overwhelming, inescapable need for MORE BBC.